Walking the Plank
by hereswith
Summary: Oneshot. Jack and Elizabeth on the island. Too much rum and a strange conversation.


**Disclaimer**: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Disney. No infringement is  
intended and I'm certainly not making any money from this story.  
**Summary**: Vignette. Jack and Elizabeth on the island. Too much rum and a strange conversation.

  
  
**Walking the Plank**  
**by Hereswith**

  
Proper Miss Elizabeth Swann. Vomiting her guts out in the white island sand, body convulsing,   
tears in her eyes. A pox and a curse on that vile, wondrous drink. The very Devil's brew. Had   
she had but a mouthful, or even a single drop, more of it, she would surely be dead. 

But he had. Captain Jack Sparrow. And he still stood upright, using one of his hands to hold   
back her hair, keeping it off her face and out of the way; a task she would have hesitated to   
ask her own maid to perform. 

"Bound to happen the first time, love. Don't fret, it'll pass."

Elizabeth retched, in response; it was a dry, wracking cough, only spittle followed in its wake.   
Her chest heaved. She didn't look at him, had no wish to see his expression. Disgust would be   
bad, pity would be far, far worse and if he smiled, she would tear his black pirate's heart out   
and be done. 

She straightened, pulling away and Jack, deeming his help was no longer needed, ambled back  
to the bonfire, leaving her a modicum of dignity. After he had gone, Elizabeth waded into the   
water, stopping when the waves reached halfway up her calves. She bent and ducked her head,  
came up sputtering and gasping for air, the taste of rum and of vomit obscured by the sharp,   
salty tang of the ocean. 

She remained, longer than she had reason to, her eyes scanning the horizon. No ship was   
in sight. No hope of rescue. Elizabeth bit her lip, fending off fear as determinedly as if it was   
an unwelcome suitor. She cast a glance behind her, briefly considering staying put until dawn   
broke. But that was foolish, a child's game, nothing more. And the bonfire beckoned.

She found Jack sitting cross-legged in the sand, bottle precariously balanced on his thigh.   
He was humming to himself, slightly off-key, but the tune was, much to her chagrin, perfectly   
recognisable.

He looked up when her shadow fell on him, tilted his head to the side and blinked. Blinked   
again. "Come now, Miss Swann, I've seen far worse in my time, trust me." A crooked grin.   
A glint of gold. "If 'tis a pirate's life you want, love, it won't do to be squeamish. Savvy?"

Elizabeth sat down, brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.   
Glared at him. "Don't you dare mock me, Captain Sparrow!"

Kohl-lined eyes widened, protesting his innocence. "Mock? Never! Wouldn't dream of it!"   
He took a hearty swig from the bottle, then patted the ground right next to him. "Keep me   
company, love?"

She didn't move an inch. 

"No?" Jack scrambled to his feet and Elizabeth promptly closed her eyes, whispering a prayer   
against the dampened cloth of her shift. For what good it did her. No good. No good at all.

He flopped down beside her, fell backwards and stretched out on the sand, bottle held firmly   
in his grasp. "Ah, much better." Jack paused, considering. "I don't suppose you'll want any  
more of the rum, will you?"

Elizabeth snorted; it was just shy of a laugh. Not for drinking, at least. But he would have a fit,   
to be sure, if she told him. "It's all yours, Captain." 

She heard him exhale. 

"All of it, Miss Swann?"

His fingers touched the small of her back, the curve of her spine. They rested there, momentarily,   
then started to move upwards, one at a time, in a mimic of walking. 

"Sweet, bonny lass."

She froze. Breathe in. Breathe out. Do not turn around. She stared at his boots, intently, as if   
they were of the utmost importance. From this angle, it was all she could see of him. "I'm still   
not drunk enough to allow that kind of talk, Captain Sparrow."

He moved; oddly graceful and remarkably agile, considering the amount of liquor he had  
imbibed. Dark hair fell across his face in a tangle of braids and of beads. She could smell   
the rum on his breath. 

"But I am, love." He kissed her shoulder, lightly enough, but with a definite sense of purpose.   
"I most certainly am."

Elizabeth choked, as if she was wearing that damned corset, laced unbearably tight. Insufferable.   
Intolerable. Despicable. And nothing, nothing like the pirate she had read about.

She got up in such a haste that she stumbled, toes and heels digging into the sand, seeking   
purchase. Before she could speak, there was a surge, deep inside of her, like a wave. 

"Oh, God." She ran, almost made it to the trees, then doubled over and started vomiting again. 

This time, the bout of nausea was brief and she returned to the makeshift camp, only a little   
while later, weak-kneed and spent. 

"All right, love?" 

Elizabeth nodded, gingerly. "Yes." With a sigh, she followed his example and lay down, taking   
the weight off her legs. 

Mad, she must have been stark, raving mad, it was the only explanation. It had seemed a grand   
scheme at the time, but now, here she was, far worse for the wear, while Jack, though sprawled   
unceremoniously, wasn't asleep, much less in the drunken stupor she had set out to achieve. 

Another sigh and a sudden sneeze, breaking the silence that had settled around them.

"Bless you," the pirate said.

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. "Thank you." 

She craned her neck, to get a better view. Wished she hadn't, when she saw him. He was leaning   
on his elbow, watching her, gaze that much darker than the kohl that shadowed it, sleeves pushed   
up high enough to reveal the scars, as well as the sparrow and the pirate's brand.

"I love Will." There. She had said it. Let the wind take the words and carry them away. 

"Of course you do, darling."

Her admission didn't seem to have surprised him, but then, she had the feeling not many things   
would. He was Captain Jack Sparrow.

"And he's a right fine lad, our Will is." Jack set the, no doubt empty, bottle aside and fiddled,   
thoughtfully, with his beard. "Mind you, I'm still not convinced he's not a eunuch--"

She rolled over. "For shame, Jack Sparrow!" 

Gold teeth flashed. "That's Captain Jack, love."

Elizabeth grimaced and nearly stuck her tongue out to emphasise her point, then caught   
herself and snapped her mouth shut. Black sheep and bad eggs, indeed. Her father wouldn't   
approve of her manners, or lack of them. She wasn't so certain she knew what Will would   
say. Not anymore. 

Her brows knit and she touched her left palm, rubbing the skin around the wrappings. "They   
wouldn't need to kill him to break the curse, would they? What if--"

"Perhaps not." He shifted. Coins chinked. Beads rattled. "But don't pin your hopes upon it.   
You've seen what passes for mercy on the ship. And he's Bill Turner's son."

Truth, there. And it hurt. It cut. She clenched her fists, raw with the pain of it and the memory   
of that boy, half-drowned and in her charge. "Well, you would know, wouldn't you? It's your   
crew."

Jack's eyes narrowed, briefly. "Was, love. 'Tis ten years since I captained the Pearl." His face   
softened and his gaze wandered, focusing on something she couldn't see, but she could guess   
well enough what it was.

Elizabeth pulled herself up into a sitting position, brushing the sand off her shift with a sharp,   
jerky movement of the hands. "And nothing else matters, does it? Not Will. Not any of this." 

Her voice shook and she hadn't intended it to. Hated that it did. He would, she imagined,   
merely reach for another bottle and drown her words and her anger in the pale, golden   
depths of it. Wretch. 

"Elizabeth."

Her head snapped up. 

"I'm a pirate, love. By nature and by choice. I gave my soul to the sea and my heart to   
the Pearl, a long time ago. But I never wanted the lad's death. Or yours. And I am sorry."

There was a tightness in her throat, a pressure around her chest, that she would've cast off,   
if she could. It sat less well with her than the anger had. She didn't trust him, didn't trust herself   
enough to answer. She would regret it, whatever she said. Gibes and taunts were part and   
parcel of the bargain they had struck and sealed with iron chain. Honesty was not. And Jack   
Sparrow, being honest, was far more dangerous than walking the plank, hammer-headed   
sharks circling below.

Her vision blurred, a little, at the edges, but she blamed it on the rum. Almost entirely on   
the rum.

A pox and a curse on that vile, wondrous man. 


End file.
